Legendary Dragonmaster

Jake glared at the computer screen, the harsh light reflecting off his tense expression. It was 7 PM—his usual quitting time. Most of the graphs on the screen bloomed in vibrant greens; at least seventy percent of today’s trades had landed in the profit zone. A total revenue of fifty-seven thousand dollars rolled in—nothing earth-shattering, but respectable all the same.  His slice of that pie, a solid fifteen percent, amounted to a staggering eight thousand five hundred fifty dollars. After three years with “Bridge Finance Consulting,” Jake had built an impressive track record that had not gone unnoticed by upper management. They were eager to elevate him to higher roles, tempting him with enticing offers of promotion and cushy paychecks. Yet, he opted to stay firmly planted as an active trader, requesting only a bump in his payout fee, making it the highest among his colleagues. Their attempts to coax him into the executive suite were met with steadfast refusal. Then, in a stunning turn of events, he shattered records with over two hundred thousand dollars in profit earned solely through scalping. After that, he was left to his own devices, granted the freedom to court the CEO at will should a promotion ever beckon.

Office chatter buzzed incessantly about him, filled with whispers as new hires flitted in and out of the firm like moths to a flame. Some met swift terminations, others ascended the ranks, but Jake had become a living legend of sorts, evoking intrigue among the staff. He was unfazed by the whispers, though; he showed up punctually every morning at eight and departed precisely at seven. Reliable as clockwork, never a moment late to start or finish, he thrived on routine.

At a distance, Jane observed him closely from her corner of the room. As a fresh trainee, she hadn’t interacted much with him, but something about Jake captured her curiosity. At first glance, he appeared to be just another ordinary office worker in finance. His suit was sharp, impeccably tailored, and hugged his form flawlessly. He stood at an average height, with a solid build that seemed perfectly suited for the corporate world.

Yet, that was merely surface-level. A long scar snaked from his left eye down to the base of his cheek, hinting at a backstory awaiting discovery. The calculated coolness in his deep brown, sunken eyes screamed, “I’ve seen things.” The rolled-up sleeves of his shirt revealed sinewy forearms engrained with the calluses of hard work—each one a testament to his relentless commitment to physical training.

When he rose, his suit had been tailored not just for style but to accommodate the impressive bulk of his broad shoulders and back. He wasn’t overly muscular, but there was an undeniable aura of strength that hinted at years spent honing his physique. A perpetual stubble accentuated his rugged features, and his square jaw was as solid as granite, imparting a manly appeal. Though he was always courteous, an underlying menace radiated from him, particularly when he was engrossed in his work.

In moments of intense focus, he transformed into a predator, fully absorbed in tracking down lucrative deals, waiting patiently for the right moment to pounce. His instincts and anticipation flowed unhindered, while distractions merely fell away, as he became entirely consumed by the hunt. It was captivating to witness.

As the clock struck seven, Jake methodically closed all his applications and powered down his work computer, slinging a sleek black backpack over his shoulder as he exited the office. The elevator ride took him down to the parking lot where his prized possession awaited him. 

A striking black motorcycle, a fully customized 1.2-liter cruiser from Barch Motorcycles—a name that commanded respect and was known for serving high-profile clients. Even the renowned actor Eanu Deevs had played a hand in crafting the specifics of Jake's order.

With his helmet snugly fastened and black leather gloves adhering perfectly to his hands, he fired up the engine, a vibrant roar bursting forth as he readied himself for an electrifying ride. The crisp early autumn air rushed in, invigorating him as he sped through the streets. It was an intoxicating blend of exhilaration—the pull of the cool breeze mingling with the fierce warmth radiating from the engine, making him feel as though he were soaring atop a magnificent, fiery dragon, its strength resonating beneath him. He could never grow weary of that feeling.   As a child, visions of a powerful motorcycle danced in his imagination, an experience far superior to any idle moment spent behind the wheel of a car. Dressed in a sharp corporate suit, Jake cut an incongruous figure against the backdrop of the bustling city—a lone rider amidst a sea of pedestrians and fellow motorists. The machine roared beneath him, a beast unleashed, each gear shift—smooth as silk—propelling him forth: second, third, fourth—he felt as if he were truly flying. The scent of gasoline, wafting in stark contrast to the sterile air of his day spent trapped in an office cocooned by purifiers and air conditioners, was like an invigorating breath of life for Jake; it was a smell he had long cherished.

At his current speed, the streets and traffic lights blurred into mere streaks of color before his eyes, and elation surged through him. The rush of open speed was a thrill that unmatched anything he had ever known; it ignited a primal joy within him that felt boundless. But, as all good things do, his ride soon culminated; in just fifteen minutes, he found himself gliding into the parking lot of his apartment complex.

A butler clad in a tailored suit greeted him at the entrance, while a tall, clean-shaven receptionist monitored the myriad of screens behind his desk. With a friendly nod, he inquired about Jake's day, handing over a stack of correspondence. Nothing of note, save for one small envelope containing a glimmering flash drive.

Jake’s penthouse on the 30th floor was the pride of the building, a fitting tribute to his accomplishments at "Bridge Finance Consulting." He felt a genuine sense of honor in such recognition. Spanning an impressive 240 square meters, the apartment boasted three spacious bedrooms, panoramic views of the bustling city below, and state-of-the-art smart home integration. Among its many treasures was an integrated wine cellar and an expansive wooden office/library—a sanctuary of sorts. It was one of the few aspects that kept him anchored to this lavish space; were it not for that sanctuary, he might have considered selling or renting the place altogether.

As the day drew to a close, Jake couldn’t shake the sense of overwhelming excess he felt. Sure, the company’s generous stock option plan was a nice perk, but it felt like a gilded cage. Those at the helm of the company, the multimillionaires and billionaires, held him in high regard. They sought him out, hoping to coax him into the upper echelons of management, promising prominence and power. But no matter how persuasive their offers were, Jake remained rooted in his resolve, weighed down by burdens he could never share. If only those personal matters could be cast aside, he would leap at the chance to ascend the corporate ladder.  

For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to daydream - what would life be like indulging in whiskey and cocktails nearly every night? Perhaps he would start a family, exchange vows, and leave behind the confines of short-lived affairs. Could this idyllic vision be his destiny? Not until I finish what I’ve started, he reminded himself, though a decade had slipped through his fingers. Maybe it was time to invest everything he had saved into a venture of his own. Yet, he quickly realized the magnitude of such an endeavor; going it alone felt like an uphill battle. Enough pondering; it was time to shift focus to the task ahead.

He opened his encrypted laptop, inserting the flash drive with a steady hand. The screen illuminated with the decryption progress, each second ticking away. Pouring himself a glass of fine whiskey, he cranked up the volume on his 54-inch television, letting the rock music pulsing through the room drown out the distractions. 

As the data unfurled before him, the screen filled with a comprehensive layout of the warehouse, detailing entry points, security systems, and the exact locations of the guards patrolling the area. Every scripted operational time frame, every cleverly concealed stash—it was meticulously crafted intelligence designed for one purpose.

For the next two hours, Jake immersed himself in the mission, memorizing every detail, visualizing the path he would take, and running simulations in his mind to pinpoint the optimal entry. When he was satisfied with his preparations, he unplugged the USB drive. In a flash, it self-destructed, the circuit severing in a final act of precaution.

Stepping into his wardrobe, Jake pushed aside his tailored suits, revealing a hidden compartment. A touch screen flickered to life as he placed his hand on the scanner, which analyzed his palm and granted him entry. Beyond the second door lay a treasure trove of specialized equipment: body armor suits, exoskeletons, baseball bats, knives, anti-stab suits, and an impressive array of handguns. He donned the protective gear, tucking hidden knives around his ankles for easy access. His bag quickly filled with flashbangs, gas grenades, night vision goggles, and cutting-edge decryption devices. 

An anxious thrill coursed through him. Today was the day he would confront them. After this, the 'Fairy Gang' would no longer haunt the shadows—they would finally face the consequences of their actions. Jake steeled himself; they would feel his wrath.

The echoes of familiarity washed over him, a haunting reminder of his days as a special forces operator. Memories of military precision and brotherhood surged forth, prompting a warm, nostalgic smile to grace his lips. Despite this fondness, he had dedicated the last decade to intense training in hand-to-hand combat, reconnaissance tactics, and close-quarters battle. He had poured countless dollars into state-of-the-art gear, and all of it was finally paying dividends. To date, he had taken down at least four small gangs and disposed of a dozen corrupt officers. Yet, the Fairy Gang stood on an entirely different level—a formidable, independently operating branch of a vast Mafia conglomerate. To penetrate their heart demanded a certain brand of madness, a fitting description for him; he had never considered himself normal. It was time to make his move.    He slipped into a camera blind spot in the underground parking garage of his apartment building, swiftly donning his gear, his face cloaked in a balaclava. The emergency exit felt like a portal to a world steeped in danger. Nearby, a black sedan with heavily tinted windows sat innocuously, bearing just enough resemblance to a college kid’s car to draw no suspicion. It was the perfect cover, blending seamlessly among a sea of similar vehicles on the street.  

Past 2 AM, darkness enveloped the warehouse at the port like a heavy shroud. Through the lens of his night vision goggles, Jake monitored the guards' movements, his heart pounding with anticipation. He retrieved his communicator from a secured stash nestled between two metal containers.  

“Fairy Eater, communication check!”  

“Hollow Snake recieving, loud and clear. Great, you’re in place. What’s the situation?”  

“Reporting. Point secured!" 

"Good, everything goes according to plan."

"Could we opt for something less cliché with these codenames? I feel like I’m in some over-the-top video game.”  

“Will think about that."

"This is exhausting. I’m at the entrance—everything aligns with the intel so far" 

"Let’s pray it stays that way. We lost three agents leading up to this; I need you in peak form.”   

“Is the designated time still unchanged?”  

“Confirm. Proceed with the mission.”  

“Roger that. Time of start at two-oh-five, Hollow Snake, out!”  

A flicker of suspicion crossed Jake's mind; why was Felon so unusually professional today? He couldn’t recollect a single instance of him being this on point. An uneasy feeling coiled in his gut but was swiftly dismissed—perhaps it was merely the weight of the task at hand. 

The soft tapping of rain on metal caused uneasiness for the two smoking guards stationed at the gate. A muted sound of a silencer faltered, and two lifeless bodies fell into the shadows just outside the reach of the projector lights. Meanwhile, the security monitor, filled with screens displaying images from around the site, showed a guard idly munching on potato chips. When the shadow appeared behind him, a stream of hot blood filled his plastic bag of chips. Jake swiftly tampered with the security controls to prevent system activation. Once connected to the main server control device, he downloaded the stored camera footage to a local server. Let’s send this to that cloud. Officer Felon will know what to do with it. For now, I’ll disable all camera recordings.

It was just as he imagined. The security was tough, but naturally, due to reliance on alarms and devices, the guard thugs became complacent. Jake, though, knew that he couldn't let his guard down, a single mistake would cost him his life. This was real combat, not some games. The thrill was filling him, he could feel the joy of adrenaline pumping his veins. But he controlled his heartbeat perfectly, his movements were one with the shadow. He knew how the soundwaves spread through the air, choosing the perfect angles for attacks and approaches. None of his enemies ever suspected him coming. Rose behind, hid in the corner, used light to blind the enemy. It was a flawless display of a true professional trained to kill, trained to dispose of an enemy without a hint of emotion. 

An extremely successful financial trader acting as a secret agent vigilante to get rid of his city from scum. But there was a hidden motive. The Fairy Gang was a part of the Big Three Mafia family. Heavy th